A Quiet Night's Rest
by WeLonelyOldSouls
Summary: Harry Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived, but he doesn't let that define him. Even within the smallest of times, he proves he is more than a symbol. One-shot.


Harry looked out from the small wooden boat. Across the lake, he saw Hogwarts Castle. From the blackness of his past, from all of the pain and regret, he it was something amazing; awe-inspiring. It was bright, seemingly coated in liquid flame. Each window was lit, each battlement gleaming. Against the starry sky, the castle was a true marvel to behold. Soaring towers and recessed buttresses twinkled, promising of hidden passages and remote courtyards, places to run and escape, to play and to breathe. He was ever so thankful that his departure had been delayed, even if it meant that his teeth chattered and his face stung as his breath formed clouds of steam in the air. He didn't mind that his lungs were weak and his body frail. He was warm in his new coat, bundled up and safe. From down on the boat, the castle beckoned a brighter future, one full of promise and hope. All around him, ice gently spread: a crystalline lattice of intricate design. Hagrid, the large groundskeeper, looked down and smiled at him.

"I kno it isn' much Harry." He began, before Harry's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Hagrid, this is one of the best things I have ever seen. It's irreplaceable. Can we just drift here; for just a bit longer?"

"Sure we can." Hagrid replies, turning away. The boat rocks slightly with the gentle giant's quiet sobs, cursing the fates that gave the little boy such a broken past. Cursing, the family that denied him the chance to live as he should have. Cursing himself for blindly following a man that so many had worshipped as a god when he all too mortal.

It was funny, he thought. Harry didn't hate the fates or even Hagrid. He understood what drove him to do that, what pushed him to act as he did. Harry didn't even hate the Dursleys. They hadn't liked him, and he knew what happened wasn't his fault, none of it. Still, he couldn't bring himself to hate them. They despised him, hated his power, and feared his world. It had taken everything from them. Their actions were by no means justified, but he didn't hate them. He knew that much at least.

Once Harry started feeling the cold, as Flitwick's warming charm was starting to fade, Hagrid tapped the side of the boat. A tentacle rose from the depths and nudged the boat, pushing it towards the shore through a channel of water in the ice. Hagrid gathered up the sickly child there, carried him back to the castle carefully. Harry was smiling the whole way, happy to finally be loved. Minerva met him there, the charmed chair floating nearby.

"I can take him from here, Hagrid." She said gently, resting a hand on his arm. The half-giant bowed his head in agreement, wiping at his eyes.

"It's a right shame, this whole thing is." He protested weakly.

"I know, dear. I know." She said softly.

Madame Pomphrey took back the empty vial from harry, hiding a smile at his grimace.

"They do taste pretty bad, don't they?" She asked. Harry made another face, which collapsed into a yawn.

" 'm not tired, I promise." He protested, covering his mouth. The matron just smiled at him.

Soon, he was back in the infirmary. He had rested, and had his final meal. They could all feel it. His time had come. They were gathered around the cot, all those who could claim to have truly known either him or his parents. It was a solemn and far too small group for the person in question. Lauded by the Wizarding world, but unknown to all but a select few. He was sleeping, resting rather peacefully for once. As the clock neared midnight, he started glowing.

It started with the tip of his nose, spreading across the sallow cheeks. It crept up to his hairline, dripped down his neck. There was a small flash as the light consumed the scar that marked him for slaughter. The outline spread, illuminating his broken body underneath the covers. The gentle glow grew stronger as the seconds loomed. Many were tearing up, sad to see the small bundle of joy leave them like this. It wasn't fair.

Hagrid wheezed out a loud sniff into a dirty handkerchief, but no one said anything. Flitwick swished his wand silently, sending a cleaning charm Hagrid's way, before his eyes returned to the glowing child. With three seconds left, it was getting too bright to look at directly. At two, it dimmed slightly, as if it were drawing a breath before pushing out. At one, it flashed bright, like a sun poking out after an eclipse. At zero seconds, the great bells of Hogwarts tolled. From the tip of his nose, he dissolved into motes of magic and light. They drifted upwards, gently following the draft towards the window. The sheets collapsed as there was no body to hold them up, and the congregated party trailed to the window.

From atop the astronomy tower, a dark shape watched the trail of twinkling particles flow upwards, towards the night sky that had claimed them. He remembered that the Greeks believed that the greatest of heroes had their souls immortalized, thrown up into the sky as to never be forgotten. As the spirit of the son of his greatest nemesis and his deepest love drifted upwards, Severus Snape wiped his nose. He told himself it was the cold; he said that it was only an allergy to the cleaning fluid from the telescopes. He knew that the water in his eyes proved otherwise. Severus Snape, admit it or not, was crying for the lost child that he had never known, and would now never know. He wept for the child, for Lily, for everything he had lost in the name of who he had become. He wept at the uselessness of it all. In the end, none of it had mattered. Not any of the power, of the knowledge, of the spells or allies or dreams. None of his choices, none of his actions mattered. In the end, he was left alone, standing in the dark at the top of a place he had sworn never to return to, doing something he never wanted to do. He was wasting his life away, pining for a past that would never come true. So he wept.

In the moonlight, he felt warm, and safe. With the others down below, he had felt the same. Yet, there had always been an undercurrent of fear, of anxiety. Now, those things had faded away. As he drifted upwards, the spirit of Harry Potter turned his gaze from those watching him go to the place he was going. He could see a rough shape, no two of them. They were holding each other. One reached out for him. They wanted him? They didn't want anyone else, not the ground below with the living. He couldn't believe it. They wanted, of all people, him? As he neared them, he began to make out more of the figures. One was male, with thick, blocky frames on his face. The other had vibrant red hair, and a warm, motherly smile. She embraced him once he was close enough.

"Hello, Harry. We've been waiting for you." She whispered, holding him close. He put his arm on her shoulder, and leaning in close.

"Welcome home, son. Welcome home."

It was just a quiet notice, tucked away on the third page of the Prophet, like he would have wanted. It was under the quidditch scores, above an ad for a solicitor. Plain, unassuming. Mirroring the person it represented, the boy no one had ever known.

 **The-Boy-Who-Lived No More**

Harry Potter, largely regarded as the savior of the British wizarding world, has passed. Our readers will remember when disaster struck this past year's sorting feast. In a fit of rage, the possessed teacher, Professor Quirinus Quirrell, cast a curse on the young savior as he walked through the doors. He was halted from doing more immediately by both professors Snape and Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. Sadly, it was too late for our hero. Madame Pomphrey tended to the fallen boy immediately, and only through rigorous spell work and numerous potions was he able to be saved from immediate death. It is our largest regret that the curse could not be lifted or stopped, despite the efforts of the best in the field.

Instead, the foul curse could only be delayed, young Harry's life prolonged for a few more months. We would be wise to remember the things unearthed during the BWL's treatment at Saint Mungos. In the course of informing the next of kin, the scandal was put to light. Due to Dumbledore's direct actions, our savior has not been taught of his heritage, nor even treated with respect. His relatives instead used him like a house elf, working him to the bone and beating him regularly. Dumbledore, once evicted from power, passed quietly in his sleep. In a redeeming effort, he left everything he had to his brother, with the request to help others more than he himself was able to. Now headmistress, McGonagall declared the school year closed, with all of magical Britain taking a break to mourn the young hero we never really knew. The curse young Harry was hit with sapped at his health, and drained his core. It also warped his mind, causing his thoughts to vary in maturity.

Remarkably, we express that this may have been a boon more than a curse, as it seems it allowed Harry to be more than the abused boy he was. The sole time we met Master Potter, in a moment of lucidity, he was very kind and thoughtful. He has donated all of the gifts sent to him to charities, as well as donating the entirety of the Potter fortune to those just entering our world. We caught a muttered remark about giving back, as well as one targeted to his uncle (Call me a waste of space now!)

For those who wished him ill will, he expressed his sorrow, and said that, "since I'm gone, now you can do greater things. You no longer need to fight to kill me, but don't forget that drive. Use that same passion to improve our world. You've gotten your wish, I'm dead. Please, for the sake of your children and society, move on."

To those that would miss him, "Take this time to get to know those around you. There's no point in getting to know me now, so instead make a new friend. Be happy. Keep watch for children like me, broken and hiding. We only want a little love, it's not much to give."

Mr. Potter, in a show of fate itself, dissolved into magic at midnight. It was beautiful, and we wish him the best in his travels. May his story never be forgotten. The story not of the child who defeated the dark lord, but instead of the child who took all that the world could hit him with and still smiled at us, still had hope in a future, even as his numbered days dwindled down. A boy, who despite all expectations, demanded we forgive those who sought to harm him, in the name of our futures. May we all endeavor to be like him, and never forget what he has done for our world. Be free, young Harry, be free.


End file.
